A Dustland Fairytale Beginning
by dollishdragxx
Summary: An examination of how Jax and Tara fell in love, starting when they met at sixteen.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I decided to write this, spur of the moment, while watching an episode of Sons of Anarchy. Gemma is famous for saying "Jax has loved Tara since he was sixteen years old", or a variation of the bit, and honestly? I've always been completely intrigued by this idea of their 'can't eat, can't sleep', the beginning of this epic love story that we're watching the progression of. So, here it is! My idea of what would be, when Jax and Tara first met, and eventually, fell in love. I don't own the characters, the show, or anything. Taking a few liberties and changing a few things, but generally? Same idea.

* * *

_**Jax**_

The streets of Charming were desolate and chilly for a California evening, the dew forming on the blades of grass on the lawns and making a sheet of fog rise to my ankles. It was quiet. Calm. The moon hooked in its sharp edges against a clear, black sky, reflecting off the exterior of the motorcycle I stood next to, waiting for me. Waiting for me to commence the insanity, beckoning streets away. Oddly, it felt like every other late night spent with a brown sack of malt liquor and a pack of smokes fresh in my back pocket, except that it wasn't. Except, it was my birthday.

My sixteenth birthday.

I maneuvered onto the bike, fastening my helmet and kicking off the stand, letting it roar to life under me. I relished in the power beneath my weight, my grip strong on the taut handles. The facts of tonight were as follows: The Sons were on a run out of state. Piney left Opie unchaperoned (as he usually did), and we were left with a house. A house to tear to unrecognizable pieces overnight, in my Teller namesake. A way to uplift me, or an excuse to get piss drunk, it didn't matter. It was all for me. Tonight would've harped strong on my adrenaline, pumping me to that uncontrollable excitement which urged me to reek havoc on sleepy Charming – but more often now, I felt a deep sense of... something. Something like emptiness, but it wasn't quite that. It was that nameless thing that kept me up at night, restless and stoic, twisting my recently dead father's rings on my fingers.

_SO-NS._

He was gone, and I was... lost. It was the only way to describe it.

Down the familiar streets, I rode, until I turned to Opie's. The structure of the house was vibrating with bass, bodies pouring in and out, and some already passed out on the front lawn. Yes, we would rage, it was inevitable. We would rage until one of us gave out, pouring our guts out into the toilet and passing out with whatever available, interested female body dropped closest to our own.

And it should have felt better.

It should have felt like I was young, free, and wild. It should have given me that reckless abandon, the thing that left my mother clucking her tongue at me, hopelessness in her dark eyes. _"You're just like JT. You're just like your father."_

I felt exhausted.

When they buried him in his leather cut and Clay gave me that look, that look that said, "W_elcome home, son"_, it started. I was reaped and sowed by the club, made and made fatherless by it. I was tired, and the fight in me was tired, too. I felt the internal clock ticking, signaling me with each stroke. I would be a Son soon. Clay was ready for me now.

After parking my bike by Opie's junker, I stepped through the threshold, a procession ringing out and stealing me away from my internal dialogue.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAX!"

"Ah, you shouldn't have, you drunk fuckers!" I yelled over the music, provoking laughter and cheers with beer bottles. A pair of bear arms clasped me from behind, slamming into me.

"Happy birthday, jackass," Opie drunkenly slurred, twisting me around so I could embrace him.

"Yeah, yeah," I sarcastically laughed as I slapped his back with affection. "Just get me a beer."

"Follow me, Teller boy. Plenty of beer _and_ pussy to go around."

I followed him, weaving through the wiggling bodies and getting a few slaps on the back and "happy birthday's" along the way. It felt like I was outside of myself, watching from another pair of eyes that weren't my own. Out of body, out of mind. It was all a movie, reeling without me but using my face to star. Had I ever been this melancholy? I'd never felt so disconnected before - everything had always been a game, chasing the next high whether it was the thrill of a fist fight, the buzz of a brew, the calm of the nicotine, or the obsession of the ride. Had I lost the play?

Death was so final. It felt like something in me died with my father, something I couldn't get back.

When we reached the kitchen, Opie tossed me a cold one that I caught with my left hand.

"Happy birthday, Jax!" Wendy Case flung herself on me, wearing something that could only be described as leather-studded-porn-star. She had a coke habit and a way with swinging her hips, but she'd been barking up my desolate tree longer than I cared to admit I'd been rejecting her. Wendy was alright, but I would never belong to a girl like her, and she'd never belong to me.

"Thanks, darlin'," I politely responded, shimmying out of her drunken lush as inconspicuously as I could manage. I avoided her pout. Cracking open my beer and taking a long pull, I watched as one of Wendy's slut squad skanks pasted herself to Opie. We were future Sons, after all. It was in our blood, in our veins, and those girls would give anything to taste it and call themselves an old lady, riding the ride they lusted after.

Something about all of it made me sick. The pang of unwarranted resentment I felt for my father's death fell back on the club, back on the Mayans. Clay took me aside after my father's funeral, and promised a cruel retaliation in my name, in Gemma's name. But I wanted it to be me, my boot on the fuckers throat, my gun against their skulls. Revenge was all I had left to hold on to.

Wendy stuck her chest out at me, a sad attempt to lure, to catch attention. I was so disinterested. "Wanna take some shots with me?"

"Nah, maybe later."

I drowned down the rest of the beer, and went to the fridge to snatch another. I needed to be drunk – the feeling was there. The empty, broken, aimless one, and I wanted to kill it before it killed my night first.

Juice stumbled into the kitchen then, side tackling me. "MY BROTHAAAA! Happy birthday, fucker!"

I laughed, rubbing his shaved head. "Thanks, ass wipe. Smoke?" It was the only thing to calm my nerves, and an excuse to ditch Wendy.

"Hell yeah. ROOF!"

"Yo, Op! I'll be right back, try to keep it in your fucking pants til then," I teased, laughing as Opie tipped his beer bottle at me and rolled his eyes over the skank's shoulder. I knew he'd fuck her, anyway. Opie was easy, a big air of nonchalance and a strong heart that attracted the gentle. I, on the other hand, attracted the thrill seekers - the girls who ached for a taste of the 'bad guy' their mommy's warned them about. I got the crazy ones, the hopeless ones, the ones who needed saving. It was why I didn't date, because the type I'd get, I didn't want for longer than a night of pleasure. I could handle the crazy sex, not the mental instability. I had enough of that with my calculating, rollercoaster of a mother.

Weaving back through the bodies, Juice and I raced up the stairs, headed for Opie's bedroom. His window led to the roof's convenient overhang, where we usually crawled out to smoke, like our own private tree house. There were people throwing up on the stairs, making out in the hallways, and sharing liquor bottles, crowded and wild, rubbing against one another. If I felt anything, I would join them. I would lose my mind and let the chaos take me, take me away to that easy place.

But still, I felt nothing.

As soon as we opened Opie's door, the feeling rocked me, jolting my body as if I'd been smacked with it.

There was a guy. Tall, shadowed, someone I recognized from our side of the tracks, but unfamiliar enough that I didn't know his name. His angry hands were clasping the wrists of a tiny, frightful brunette, who appeared to be rebelling against him. She was screaming 'no', and it was enough. It was enough to know what was happening, and what I would do next. It sparked in me like fire, raging and clouding all of my senses. Fury. Anger. _Feeling. _My fist connected with his cheekbone before I thought about it, crunching into my knuckles audibly. When he went down, the toe of my boot instantly jammed thick into his ribs, again and again, a continuous thrashing that seemed to release everything that had been bubbling just underneath the parts of me I left hidden. I don't know how long it continued until Juice grabbed my shoulders, hoisting me back.

"Jax! Jax! Ease up! You got him bro. Relax."

I heaved, my face twisted with disgust and want, _need _to ruin this fucker more. I'd kill him if I did. "Then get him the fuck out. Get him fucking out of here."

He didn't hesitate - he saw it in my eyes, the snap I'd had on more than one occasion, rearing its ugly head once again. "Come on, asshole," Juice grabbed the groaning fucker to his feet, shoving him outside of Opie's bedroom and hopefully into the middle of ongoing traffic where fate could have his punishment.

As I slowly calmed the wave of my break, recovering in solitude, I heard the soft sobs. The girl. I'd almost forgotten she was there, the one I'd just saved from whatever unimaginable disgrace she was about to endure. She was sitting on the edge of Opie's bed, frail knees curled to her small chest as if trying to hold it all in. I took a deep breath, letting the ease take over completely, and slowly crossed over and sat next to her. I made sure it was a few spaces away to give her room to breathe, to feel safe. The last thing she needed was to fear being hurt like that again.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. It's alright." I softly said, trying to bring her out of herself. I'd completely snapped out of my rage, and somehow found myself caring about that tiny little thing sitting next to me.

She wiped her face with the palms of her hands, choking down her sobs. Trying to be strong and not break in front of me, I guessed. The light from the moon was pouring in through the window, illuminating her face.

She was beautiful. So, so beautiful. Small, sloped nose, full lips, wide, heavily lashed eyes. I was stricken by her - I hadn't seen her face before, it was like I'd blacked out and tunneled in on what was hurting her. We connected eyes, and I felt something again. I _felt._

"Are you okay?" I asked, softer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm... fine." She took a deep breath, hazel irises sweeping over my face. Searching? Wondering if I was insane, a savior, a friend? "Thank you."

I gave her a smile, shrugging my shoulders to lighten her mood. "No need. Fresh air?"

The girl seemed taken aback, and paused for a second, taking a few more deep breaths. Her frame wasn't as shaky anymore and she seemed to calm down; she trusted me now. She trusted that she was safe. "Um... sure."

"Come on," I stood, motioning for her to follow me. I opened the window, curling over and swinging by body out onto the roof. Hesitantly, she followed, edging out. We sat together on the roof in synchronization, our legs dangling over the edge. The cooler air cleared my mind, releasing the last bit of tension I felt from my burst. I watched the girl; she seemed to feel the same, the muscles in her body going limp and the tears ceasing. I grabbed my cigarettes and offered her one.

"No, I don't smoke. Those'll kill you, you know." She said, her voice quiet and silky. I laughed a little, popping one between my lips.

"I'm sure something more interesting will get me first. What're you doing here?" She didn't seem like the type. Not a smoker, and from the look of her clothes, far from a Wendy - the usual type of girl around us. Had I seen her around school? It was a rare thing not to know everyone in Charming, and I was surprised I didn't know her name already.

"I came with a friend. I don't usually... do these kinds of things, but she convinced me to come out. And then she left," She said, starting at her bruised palms. They made me want to slam my foot into that god damned asshole's ribs again.

"What's your name?"

"Tara. Tara Knowles."

I offered her my hand. "I'm Jax. Jax Teller."

She put her dainty hand in my calloused one. "It's nice to meet you, Jax."

"Likewise," I responded, giving her fingers a small shake and then letting go. "It's my birthday."

She gave me a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Happy birthday, Jax."

"Thank you, Tara."

And I felt alive again.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Tara**_

"I... I've never done this before," I admitted, standing in front of Jax Teller's motorcycle and feeling a small flutter of anxiety in my chest. I'd never been on a motorcycle, and the unfamiliarity left me in a slight panic. What if I fell off? He'd offered me a ride home after our late, unexpected roof conversation, and I'd obliged, forgetting that he was the son of a Son. The Sons of Anarchy - infamous, respected, and feared, of course I knew who he was, or who he was going to be.

I just forgot the bike automatically came with it.

Jax jovially chuckled at me, grabbing a solo helmet and handing it over. "You look ridiculously terrified right now," He mused, raising an eyebrow in playful sarcasm. "I'm not asking you to disarm a bomb, Tara Knowles. Trust me, you'll be fine."

I couldn't help but smile back at him, the easy way he interacted with me and the twist of his lips when he smirked. Grunge, dangerous, reckless and all, Jax Teller was absolutely attractive and I couldn't stop staring at him. Neither could a lot of girls at school, I'd noticed, but the kind of life I'd been bullied into that night never had anything to do with me. I was quiet, smart, _conservative _Tara. I'd never smoked, I'd had one beer and a few sips of wine in my entire teenage life. I spent my days taking care of my drunk father, who mourned my mother, and adopting the local library as my second dwelling. Loud parties and even louder motorcycles had never landed in my agenda.

I took the helmet from Jax in automatic trust. After all, he'd just saved my life, and somehow, despite the fact that something horrible could have just happened to me in that bedroom, I felt okay. Jax helped me feel okay.

"Alright then, Jax Teller."

He smiled at me again before situating himself on his bike, pushing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. I couldn't decide if they were for reading, or for riding, but he looked handsomely clever in them. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I slid onto the back of his motorcycle after fastening his helmet on my head, and it felt like leaping into the unknown. Jax reached around and very gently gathered my arms, guiding them to link around his middle. I could tell he did this extra carefully, avoiding the bruises on my wrists.

"Hold on tight, okay?"

"Okay," I breathlessly responded, feeling the motor spring to life underneath us. The motor roared, and Jax's leg kicked off the stand, using his legs to keep us centered. And then he took off. I closed my eyes at first, clutching his abs tighter then before, the thrill of the ride shocking me. Then slowly, I relaxed, peering out under my eyelashes and over Jax's leather coated shoulder and out into the starry night. It was... honestly exhilarating.

I felt free. I felt alive.

"I'm on west street!" I shouted out to him over the rippling wind. He gave me a silent nod and turned, heading the way of my house.

The ride lasted shorter than I'd wanted it to. By the end of it, I was wishing to travel cross country on the back of mysterious stranger, Jax Teller's bike, stopping at small diner's and investing ourselves in more intriguing conversations, just the two of us. I had a knack for developing book-like fantasies in my head, grasping onto dreams that were just as thrilling as they were changing. I wanted more than Charming. I wanted more than to play nurse for my deadbeat father, and the course of invisibility. It was why I agreed to that party – Jax's party, though I hadn't known it was his. I wanted more, I wanted excitement. I wanted experience.

"Which one?" Jax's bike was slowing now, on my street.

"The fourth house, down on the left."

Jax slowed more, down to a stop in front of my address. The lights were still on, but I knew my father would be slumped in his chair, an empty bottle of whiskey at his bare feet. I easily hoisted myself off of Jax's bike with a lackluster sigh, unlatching his helmet to return.

"Thank you. For the ride, and... you know, what you did back there," I earnestly told him, offering back his helmet. As he took it from me, he nodded with a half grin.

"No problem. It wouldn't be a Teller birthday without a ceremonial ass beating, so thanks for the opportunity," He mischievously teased, smirking as he put his helmet on.

I smiled back at him, hugging my arms to my chest against the chill of the wind. "Well, then, you're welcome, I guess." I shrugged playfully, taking a few steps backwards, making to head inside. Would I see him again after this?

Jax took a beat, his smile fading into seriousness as he looked at me. "You going to be okay?" I knew he was referring to the incident. Was he always this caring and sensitive? When I saw him around Charming, I always got the sense that he was stony, hard, and hot-headed, a teen headed on a dark, corrupted path. The hot-headed fact proved to be true, but the calm way he was around me left me guessing. What was inside of Jax Teller? Who was he, really?

I wanted to know.

"I'll be fine. Thank you." I stared back to him, wondering, his blue eyes reflecting the moon back at me.

Jax nodded in accord, kicking his bike back to life. "Sleep well, Tara."

"Happy birthday, Jax." I smiled, and he smiled back, before he sped back down the street, disappearing into the night.

As I closed my eyes in bed that night, I felt a sense of endless opportunity. I felt change.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Thank you guys for all the favorites, follows, and feedback! You rock (: I hope you keep reading!

* * *

**_Jax_**

"Jax, I really don't see how I can get you out of it this time," Linda somberly said to me, plucking her glasses from her sharp nose as she heavily sighed. I was probably one of the very few who knew the Charming High's counselor by her first name; we'd grown quite acquainted over my wicked years of disobedience, and her feeble attempts to _set me on the right path _were always unrewarded. She'd put her ass on the line daily, tossing me community service deeds, janitorial "helping" crew, and over a dozen detention cards instead of my inevitable expulsion – the one the board had been begging to hand out to me. Linda fed them mental and emotional bullshit, keeping me educated in hopes of a diploma in the Teller family. My latest perpetration was a kid's broken nose, who'd thought it wise to crack on the death of my father.

"_He was white fucking trash, he deserved to eat fucking dir-" _He never even got a swing in; he was writhing on the tile floor of the hallways, bloody palms holding the face I'd ruined, before he'd finished the last word.

I felt guilty, surrendering now after everything Linda had done. They wouldn't have to expel me, I'd be going willingly, because it was time. There was nothing there for me between those walls anymore. I needed to be educated in bikes, in knives, in running guns, in burying Mayan bodies. It was my blood, my preordained course to fulfill in the namesake of my father and wear the cut he swore his life by. SamCro was calling me, retching its unforgiving, brash claws into my skin while I let it. I'd never carry a diploma, I'd never go to college. I'd never leave Charming. My place was in that clubhouse, in a chair during chapel.

After a few beats, I took a deep breath, and nodded to myself. _It's time. _"It's alright, darlin'. I just came by to drop out."

* * *

When I heard the last bell resound through the building, I walked out of Charming High for the last time, no longer a boy, but a man. A man forging his own way out of the confines of authority, already feeling like an outlaw.

As I made my way to my bike, I saw her. Hands full of books, long, chestnut hair flung over one shoulder, eyes averted to her brown healed boots with each clacking step on the pavement that she took. Tara. I smiled a little to myself, rerouting to meet her halfway on the courtyard. For some reason, it'd felt like I'd never see her again; that night was happenstance, something fate drew up out of shits and giggles to remind me who I was. I knew she wasn't from my world, or else I would've known her before my party, and somehow that made her a passing ship in the night – something meant for another direction and admiration from afar. But seeing her now made me want to capture it.

"Tara." I greeted, stepping slightly in front of her. It must have scared her because she jerked with a small gasp, dropping all the books cradled in her arms.

"Shit! I didn't mean to scare you." I apologized as both of us leaned down to gather her things. She started to laugh, looking up at me with reverence.

"Oh, no, it's totally not you. I'm easily excitable." She rolled her eyes at herself, and I smirked, trying not to say anything about the sexual connotations behind it. Something about Tara screamed innocence; I didn't want it to be me who made her uncomfortable.

After we'd gathered her books, we both stood, smiling at one another. "Hi." I finally said.

"Hi, Jax." She responded, obviously just as happy to see me again. "How're you?"

"I'm great. Free, actually. I kinda just..." I scratched the back of my head, pausing a bit before admitting, "dropped out."

Tara's full lips pouted into an 'o' of shock, dark eyebrows arching in question. "Really? You think that's... I don't know, a good idea?"

I chuckled a little, kicking the grass beneath my white tennis shoe. "For Charming High's student body? Hell yeah." I joked, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly.

She looked at me in a bashfully concerned kind of way, pausing as if trying to find the right words. I saw my mom do it so many times before, when she wanted to show concern, but didn't know how without crossing my thin lines. "And for you?" Tara hesitantly questioned.

"I have bigger things going on."

"Like the Sons of Anarchy?" She came clean with her knowledge, and I liked that. I liked that she was smart, meek, a little quiet, but a straight shooter. It meant there was fire inside of her – a fire I wanted to know.

I nodded, another smirk playing on my lips. She'd confessed that she knew who I was, and it was like an omission of herself to me. "Something like that."

She nodded back, accepting it, shifting the pile of books in her hand. "Well, then, I hope it works out for you."

"Yeah, thanks. Where you headed?"

"To the bus. I'm actually going to miss it if I don't hurry," She responded, looking over her shoulder at the slew of yellow vehicles ready to give students rides home. I guessed that Tara was either fifteen, or a monetary value shy of having her own ways of getting to and fro.

"I can take you, if you want?" It wasn't pity that made me blurt the words, but more of the want to spend more time with her. I didn't want to see her go yet. She... intrigued me. Maybe because she was so different from the other girls I'd been involved with, or maybe it was the attraction I felt when she looked at me with those big hazel eyes, like she was seeing something other than the name, the corruption, the lost boy without a cause. It was like she was seeing the parts of me that were tired, aimless, useless, and she wanted to know why they were there, buried under the mask of strength.

Tara smiled, like I'd read her mind. "I'd like that. Yes."

* * *

"Do you want to come in for a little while?" Tara asked me, sliding off the back of my bike and removing my helmet.

"Love to." Without hesitation. I kicked the stand on my bike in her vacant driveway, maneuvering off and following her to the porch. "Folks home?" It was second nature to ask when a girl invited you inside. It was either fake uncomfortable politeness, or relax just the two of us.

"It's just one folk. Mom passed when I was nine, and dad's at work until five. I have to warn you, though, the house is a mess. He's a bit of a hoarder," She responded, twisting a key into the door one handed and holding the books with the other. When she struggled a bit, I took the books from her arm, giving her more leverage.

"Thanks," Tara mumbled, before opening her door.

She was right. Her dad was a fucking hoarder.

There were boxes upon boxes piled waist length high, filled with trinkets, photos, albums, and what looked like other knick-knacky junk that I didn't get a good enough look at. I didn't want to be rude by staring at it when she warned me that it'd be there, probably in embarrassment. We had to weave through the labyrinth to get to the kitchen, which was fairly un-cluttered, considering the rest of the house. Tara sat her keys on the table, and I laid her pile of schoolbooks beside them. Chemistry. Calculus. Honors Biology.

Damn, Tara was no fucking joke.

"Want something to drink?"

"Beer?" I responded, sliding into a wooden chair.

She looked over her shoulder with a grimace, obviously scolding me with a look. "Something that _won't _get you scraped off the road when you ride home?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the sass coming out of her, the first I'd ever seen. I knew I'd been right about the fire. "Soda is fine, darlin'."

She brought two colas from the fridge, and then sat down across from me at the kitchen table. After we both cracked them open and had a few sips, the talking started. She told me about her dad, his progressive drinking since the death of his wife, Tara's mother. She told me about school, her love for science, math, and her dreams of working with children. She told me she had high hopes for college, wanting to travel, spend time somewhere in a big city that snowed in the winter.

I told her about the club. My father's tragic death. My mother, spending obscenely late nights with Clay and sometimes staying out the entire night. I told her about Opie, our friendship since diapers, and Juice who came shortly after. I told her that all I ever wanted in life was to ride my Harley, and be respected the way that my father was. To feel something, to feel important.

And we talked even more after that, because we couldn't stop. Because she wanted to know everything, just like I wanted to know everything about her.

We kept talking, until she looked at the clock on the counter. "My dad will be home soon. I don't think he'll like us being here alone together."

I nodded in agreement, understanding. "I have some things I need to take care of. I'll get out of your hair," I got up from the table, stretching from the long two hours spent camped, enthralled in conversation. Had I ever done something like that before?

"Hold on." Tara quickly said, getting up from the table and going to a drawer. She pulled out a tablet and a pen, scribbling something down and then tearing it from its seams. She handed it over to me."Call me, okay?"

I grinned at her, holding the piece with her name and number in my hand. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Tara**_

"I saw you on the back of Jax Teller's bike the other day," inquisitive David Hale said on Thursday, leaning on my lab table during Biology. My tongs paused mid air in my hand, cutting my meticulous cat dissecting short.

"And?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow at him.

He was giving me that look. To understand the look was to understand the ridiculous infamy surrounding the Sons of Anarchy, and those luster, dangerous teenage boys who were quite obviously imprinting their boots in each step thereof – like Jax, Opie, and Juice. I'd been getting the look quite a lot lately, half from my side of the fence and half from Jax's, especially from one Wendy Case – all boobs, blonde curls, and obvious snarls. I knew her from a few classes in junior high school, but she'd never looked my way before. I doubt she even knew I existed, until now.

I knew her dislike of me had to be because of Jax. We'd only been casually hanging out for a week, and the judgment had already begun.

Wendy generally had a pack of hyenas glaring as well, all wearing clothing that was barely passing the student dress code, sporting piercings and tattoos that I was sure their parents couldn't have agreed to. Or maybe they had. Jax's part of life was still foreign to me; I had to take it in strides, what was free reign and what wasn't, and what constituted as normal behavior and what was abnormal.

"You shouldn't associate with him. He's bad news, Tara," David poked the dead cat with his gloved index finger. "And dangerous."

I sighed, rolling my eyes a little bit because it felt like a joke gone horribly wrong. I pictured Jax's grinning face, his unruly golden hair, and his gentle, deep-set blue eyes. I thought of his easy, boyish laugh, and his careful way of listening to me when I prattled on about nothing important and somehow it intrigued him. How could someone like him be dangerous? Just because of his father, the club, and all the heat surrounding it didn't mean that Jax was just like all of the others. He was different, wasn't he? He was... special, no matter the reputation he had.

"What would you know about it, David?" I focused my attention back on my work, using the tongs to pry open the incision on the cat.

"My dad's the sheriff, Tara." He proudly said, as if I needed yet _another_ reminder. "He tells me all kinds of stories about those low lives, straight from his office."

"Jax is different." I quietly defended him as I continued to concentrate on my work, inwardly begging David to leave me alone.

David and I had been something of a pair when we were younger, spawn from the friendship our mother's had as children. He was the first boy I'd ever held hands with, and the first date I'd ever been on, just last year. He was nice and sweet on me, but I never felt it the way that he obviously had. I expected fireworks, magic, and the fairytale that came with romance – like the can't eat, can't sleep, I'll die if I don't have them kind of thing, and my expectations of that dream were cut short with David. He was a good friend. An annoying one, yes, but loyal and honest enough and I respected him for that. But he wasn't for me. No one had been, yet.

When David didn't say anything for awhile, I looked up at him, still leaning there against my table. He looked affronted.

"You like this guy?" He was almost incredulous. "_Jax Teller_? Really?"

When I didn't say anything and went back to my work, David finally left me alone, abandoning his fight. But the question stayed with me. Was I falling for Jax Teller?

* * *

"What's your favorite color?" Jax asked me as we laid on his living room floor side by side, splitting a bag of skittles. We were on question thirteen. I'd walked over after school as we'd planned the night before, my turn to spend time at his place. This was the fifth time we'd spent time together, and I still had yet to meet his mother, Gemma, whom I'd heard so much (good and bad, mostly bad) about. She always seemed to be working at Teller-Morrow auto-motives, or somewhere with this Clay that Jax often mentioned. It was odd that I'd met none of his family, considering Jax had met my father, though I doubted my father remembered it. He was half a bottle of whiskey in, and sluggish in his hospitality. Jax was kind, and didn't say a word to me about it afterward, even though he could see the upset in my eyes.

"Hmmm. Blue. Or gray, maybe." I popped a yellow skittle in my mouth, looking over at him. He lay on his side, facing me, and I lay on my back. "What's yours?"

"Black." He took a red skittle. "If you could go anywhere, right now, where would you go?"

"New York." I responded after a beat, and then amended. "Or Chicago."

Jax chuckled softly. "You always have two answers for everything."

I laughed with him, unable to help it because his joy was contagious. And, the jerk had a point. I never could pick just one. "Maybe I just like a lot of things." I took a green skittle and flipped it on my tongue. I sucked on them before I chewed. "Where would you go?"

"Ireland, maybe. My dad loved it there."

"I hear its beautiful." I replied, shifting over to lay on my side like he was. As my eyes swept over him, I noticed for the first time the leather vest he was wearing. It was plain, black and fitted, except for the white patch over the right pocket, near his heart. It said _PROSPECT. _I reached out to the banner, my fingers lining each letter. "What does it mean?" I wondered aloud.

Jax watched my hand for a beat before responding. "It means I have to prove myself to SamCro."

I withdrew my hand from his vest, looking at his face. His expression was so austere then, strong jawline tense and eyes averted from mine. He looked so much older than sixteen in that moment, wise and worn down with responsibility. It frightened me.

"It's started already?"

Jax nodded, heaving a sigh. "Yeah. It's time for me. With my dad gone..." He trailed off, not saying anything else. I knew not to press him on it, just like I knew not to press him on the death of his brother, Thomas, even though Jax had been so young when it happened. I tried not to worry that he lived with the same heart defect that Thomas regretfully didn't survive, as I also tried not to worry about him joining the club at a mere sixteen years old. Wasn't that too young? Didn't he need a few more years, just being a teenager and free, preparing to take that on when he was a man? It felt wrong. And if the rumors were true, it felt life changing.

"Are you scared?" I couldn't help but ask, struggling to hide the deep concern that twisted in my stomach. I could almost picture his grave in the Charming graveyard, small and unforgiving of his unfair death, brought on by guns, drugs, gang feuds, and whatever else corruption the Sons of Anarchy held behind its club doors.

"No. I'm not scared." The corners of his lips rose very slightly as he brushed a strand of tawny hair out of my face, grazing my cheekbone. His fingertips left a trail of fire on my porcelain skin, my heartbeat rising in tempo in its wake. _What was that? _"You shouldn't be scared, either, Tara."

"Can't help it," I breathlessly responded, feeling embarrassed at the heat I felt filling my cheeks. I knew I was blushing, and he was smirking at me now because of it.

We looked at each other for a long moment then, searching each others' eyes while I tried to understand what was happening between us. There was an energy pulsing, demanding to be felt, looming between the small space between my body and his. He had me ridiculously breathless and flustered, all because his fingers had skimmed my cheek in his affectionate way of tucking my hair back, and all of it had me deep into myself and my thoughts. I'd felt an attraction between us before, the very first night he'd saved my life and taken me home on the back of his bike. But this wasn't innocent or platonic anymore, it was changing with each laugh, each stolen conversation, each game of twenty questions. It was changing with his mischievous grins, the fullness of his bottom lip, the ocean swirls of his irises, the mess of his hair. His kindness, his softness, his edginess, his rage like a beautiful thunderstorm on a summer night. His life, so dangerous, so unexpected and almost magical in a way, like a story I couldn't put down. It was more. It was bigger.

It was infatuation now. I knew it for sure.

_I am falling for Jax Teller. _

My heart was beating so hard I thought that he could hear it. I watched as his eyes slowly drifted from mine, down to my lips, parted and nearly gasping for air. Was he going to kiss me?

"Tara..." He breathed, and I felt him lean closer.

"_Jax?! You home?!_" We both heard the front door swing open, and both of us sprung away from each other, snapped out of our almost moment. As the front door slammed shut, both Jax and I got to our feet, shifting awkwardly like we'd been caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

"In here, Op," Jax called out, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Opie came through the threshold then, wearing a leather cut that matched Jax's, prospect patch and all. "Clay wants us at the clubhouse. Got some shit going down with the feds, looking at some time..." He trailed off, finally realizing my presence. "Tara?"

We knew each other from the English class he barely attended, and meeting again the night of Jax's party. He obviously hadn't expected me to be around him now, in the privacy of Jax's home. "Hey, Opie."

"Hey." He smiled slightly, a tiny look of suspicion about it before he turned back to Jax. "Ready, bro?"

Jax turned to me, as if looking for my permission. It felt extremely intimate, like I had some kind of say in his release.

"You should go. I can walk home, it's just a few blocks." I smiled at him reassuringly.

The three of us began walking out of the house, Jax locking the door behind him. On the porch, he stopped, letting Opie go ahead to his bike and stopping me by putting a hand on the small of my back. I looked up at him, caught in his closeness. I felt the fire, the butterflies in my stomach again.

"I'll call you. Be safe walking home." Jax clutched onto the hem of my shirt for a millisecond, and then let his hand drop.

Opie gave me a nod as a goodbye from his roaring bike and I nodded back, watching as the two of them road off down the road. I stood on the porch for a second, regaining my composure after Jax's small displays of affection.

Something was happening between us, and I was thrilled and terrified at the same time.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Jax**_

"What's goin' on, Jackie Boy?" Chibs said to me that afternoon, emerging from the clubhouse doors and making his way to sit next to me on the picnic table top. I was smoking vigorously, furiously, attempting to reel in the part of me that wanted to explode. I wanted to split my knuckles open on something solid, bloody bones crushing down the Teller tidal wave of fire within me. I wanted to fight, I wanted to scream, I wanted to ruin something beautiful.

Everything was deteriorating at my feet, mocking me.

"He's going to go inside," I said through another smoky exhale. "Clay. They'll lock him up."

Chibs took a beat for a heavy sigh, nodding solemnly. "Aye. They will, Jackie."

Hearing it confirmed was like sprinkling gasoline onto the burn inside of me. I'd been waiting, for hours it seemed, to hear it said. They had their chapel, where Prospects had no admittance, and I had to let the torturous minutes tick by, just to hear it was all fucking hopeless.

"First my dad. Now the only thing I have closest to him." I spat, hatred of whatever outlying force kept fucking ass screwing me. Fate. Whatever I called family kept getting snatched away from me, like a sick game of cat and mouse. "Fuck this."

Chibs rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezing the tissue firmly. "Ah, now, it's alright. He'll get short time, from the looks of it," He reassured me in his thick, Irish way. "We all have to pay our dues sometime."

"What about SamCro?"

Chibs slapped my back affectionately, hopping down from the picnic table. "We hold down the fort for our pres," He gave me a grin, accentuating the deep, roguish scars on either side of his cheeks. "Come on, kid."

I took one last drag and tossed the bud, confused. "Where?"

"Play a few Irish drinking games."

* * *

Stumbling, slurring, laughing at purely nothing, so hard that my ribs began to hurt, I was piss drunk. Opie and Juice flanked me on either side, pretending to be supporting me, though they were just as drunk as I was. I knew it was late evening; we were walking down town through the streets of Charming, leaving our bikes in the sake of our limbs still being attached the next day. But I couldn't tell how long we had been, I was running on drunk time. Neither could I tell where we were headed.

"Get me a fucking burger!" I loudly proclaimed.

Opie and Juice began cackling again, making their stumbles collide into mine. "We heard you, fucker. That's where we're going, we're going to the diner." Juice slapped my back, making me lose my balance for a moment.

Oh, so that's where we were going.

When I recovered, I put Juice in a messy headlock, fist rubbing against his buzzed head.

"Ow, Jax! Fucking bitch!" He half laughed half screeched, struggling against my grip until he slid out. He connected a fist to my shoulder at a weird angle, hitting me hard. I barely felt it, but I knew it would be likely to be a nasty bruise tomorrow. I always woke up with drunken battle scars.

"We're here!" Opie announced, side slamming me and causing a ripple effect, getting Juice and I to veer to the right into Joe's diner. When we made it inside, we grabbed the attention of the few occupants with our rambunctiousness, but they quickly went about their own business. Charming townsfolk liked to keep their heads down when the Sons were involved, and the three of us sporting our new Prospect cuts was enough to keep them quiet. We wanted it that way; it made it easier for us to be benevolent, outlawed dictators.

The three of us sat at the bar, and Old Louie came to tend to us. "Burgers, fries, chocolate milkshakes tonight, fellas?"

"Hell yes." The three of us said in synchronization, sliding more than enough cash on the counter.

Old Louie chuckled at us, shaking his head like a grandpa would to a toddler. "Coming up."

I barely remembered consuming our food, just that it was the best burger I'd ever had and somehow, I'd gotten ketchup in my hair during the drunken ravaging. When nothing was left but three empty plates, the three of us headed out in another rowdy tussle, teasingly throwing fists and nudging through the threshold. As soon as we hit the streets, we collided into another group of people who were making to head inside.

Two guys and a girl. I recognized David Hale immediately, the pain-in-the-ass sheriff's son, who glared at me like it was his fucking job. My fists were already tightening at his hostile glance. The other guy was the football team's quarterback, arrogant and a jackass, both of his arms draped over the two girls' shoulders in a suggestive way. And one of those girls was a tiny brunette that I knew well.

Tara.

Immediately, my body went rigid. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Was she on a fucking double date? What the fuck was this?

_Wasn't she mine?_

"Jax! Hey," She slid out of the douchebag's arm, giving me a friendly smile as she stepped closer. What, was she going to fucking mock me now? Make me look like a god damned fool? I thought we were something else, progressing to something more. Apparently, I'd misread her, and everything I felt meant nothing. She was treating me like an acquaintance and it bothered me. Really bothered me.

I didn't say anything. I barely even acknowledged her, because I felt the fury build up like legos, waiting to give me the chance I'd been praying for back at the clubhouse. Beating someone until my knuckles were nothing but bone.

"Excuse you." Hale sarcastically droned, referring to the way that Opie, Juice and I were blocking the diner's entrance.

I began to darkly laugh, nudging past Tara to put my face in Hale's. "What did you fucking say?"

"Jax," Opie warned, tense, edging close to me. "He's the sheriff's son."

"I don't give a fuck what he is." I said this in Hale's face, challenging him like a bull. He glared back at me with a snarl, but I saw the tinge of fear in his bugging eyes. He wasn't trained to fight like a Son, and he would never beat a Son. Especially me, the one marked with near insanity anytime the rage returned.

"Jax, stop." Tara anxiously ringed out, reaching out and putting her hand on my forearm. I jerked away, like she'd branded me with her touch.

I looked over to her with distaste. She recoiled, small and afraid, and inwardly I hated that I'd made her feel like that. "What is this? Did you come here with him?"

"It's not like –"

Hale cut her off, growling, making my eyes snap back to his pinched face. "Stay away from her, Teller."

"David –" Tara was cut off again, by me.

"Or what? What the fuck will you do about it?" I evilly grinned in his face, so close that our noses were almost touching. My chest shoved out into his weaker one, working him up. I wanted this. I wanted to fight.

Hale swung, I ducked, and jived my fist into his ribs.

It all erupted very quickly then. The quarterback tried to intervene but was taken on by Opie and Juice, while Hale and I rolled on the pavement, sharing reckless, ceaseless poundings, Tara and her female companion screaming for us to stop over everything. When I'd finally pinned Hale down, the bloody thrashing to his face began, right as soon as we heard the police sirens.

"STOP! EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!"

They had to drag me off of Hale and handcuff me before I let up the beating. Opie, Juice, Hale, the football fuck, and I were placed in the back of cruisers, and I saw Tara's horror stricken face as she stood on the sidewalk, watching as they drove me away.

* * *

"What the _hell _were you thinking, Jackson?" My mother smacked me upside the head as we walked out of the police station. Piney was dragging Opie by his ear and Juice's mother was wailing stuff in Spanish, while the baby she held cried and wailed with her.

"I wasn't, really." I couldn't help but chuckle a little bit, warranting another smack from my mom. "Jesus, could you please stop bitch slapping me?"

Gemma narrowed her eyes, scowling. "He's a Hale, Jackson. We don't need more shit on our plates right now, not with Clay..." She trailed off, that worry wrinkling her face again.

I sighed, guilty, knowing that she was already distraught about the bullshit charges Clay would be slammed inside for. Whatever was going on between them was serious, and it had bothered me when it began so closely to my father's death, but now it just felt like both of us were holding on to whatever shred of _family _we had left to claim. Ironic that, as soon as I'd accepted it, the father figure I'd approved would be MIA for the next year.

"I get it, mom." I deadpanned, wiping some blood off the cut on my lip. Hale had socked me a few good ones, but it was nothing compared to his face.

"Just get in the god damned car." She snapped, getting into the driver's side of our SUV. I slid into the passenger side, rolling down my window to let the fresh air in.

"I have to get my bike."

My mom shook her head immediately. "No, you'll get it tomorrow."

I groaned, sliding down into my seat, annoyed with her. I hated being parted from my bike, my pride and joy. The car ride was dead silent, Gemma fuming on me adding more shit to her plate, or thinking about Clay's inevitable conviction – I couldn't tell which was more prevalent. When we got to our house, she pulled over on the side of the road.

"Go straight to bed, Jackson. I'll be at Clay's." The conviction was winning. I could tell by the way her voice dropped off at the end; she wanted to spend whatever time he had left, together. I didn't want to push it, so I just nodded, sliding out of the car and heading up the walk to our house.

I turned around to watch my mom drive off, and when I turned back to the house, I saw her. Sitting on my porch, knees hugged to her chest. Tara. Waiting for me.

I didn't expect to see her, but something about it exasperated me. I didn't have the energy for that conversation right now, especially given what just happened. I didn't want to dance around the misunderstanding between us, or whatever defense she would be giving for that Hale fucker. I sighed, meeting her on the porch stairs. She stood then, looking up at me with this petrified expression, like she was seeing something horrible for the first time in her life. Like she was seeing me, John Teller's son. The misfit in the biker gang.

"Your face..." Tara whispered, her eyes circling my head.

"Not so bad." I shrugged, giving her a disinterested glance. "You should see the other guy."

Her expression turned angry then, her arms curling and folding across her chest. "What was that about, Jax? You should've walked away."

I challenged her, a sarcastic, nonchalant air about my response. I wouldn't let her have power over me again. "SamCro doesn't walk away from pansy ass little bitches." I spat on the step below us, emphasizing just how _much _I cared about David Hale and his smug ass face. "I could ask you the same question."

"Ask me _what? _Why I tried to prove I was a tough guy by beating up the _sheriff's son?_" She snapped back, giving me wide, judgmental eyes.

"Oh, give me a god damned break. I don't have to prove shit."

"Then ask me _what_, Jax?"

I felt a little stab of anger, but not enough to tip me. "What were you doing with him? You his girl?"

"What?" Tara was affronted, eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement. "No. After you left with Opie, I went to the library to study. They were there, we formed a group, and decided to get food after we finished." She explained, understanding starting to dawn on her. She knew what I'd been thinking, she had to, because her expression began to soften and her eyes were back to looking at me with worry. "David's just a friend. With a big mouth, but just a friend, Jax. I'm not... _his _girl."

"Oh." The anger disappeared, because now, it wasn't meaningless. The way I felt for her still mattered, especially in the way she specified _his_. It changed everything.

"You thought..." She trailed off, letting it stay unspoken.

I sighed again, the rigidness in my spine relaxing, like a weight had been lifted. "I saw you with him, and I just... snapped."

Tara seemed to understand because she nodded then, looking down at her shoes while she tucked hair behind her ears – a nervous habit I'd noticed.

"You were scary." She whispered.

I stepped closer to her, trying to find the line. How close was I allowed to be now? "I'm sorry, Tara. It gets the best of me sometimes." I apologized softly.

"It's okay. I..." She took a long pause, still looking away from me. "I feel it, too, Jax."

I didn't hesitate now. I stepped even closer then, cupping her face with my calloused hands and guiding her to look back at me again. Her eyes were brilliant, afraid, entranced. She was blushing like she had before, laying on my living room floor. I'd wanted her then, so badly that it twisted in my gut and coursed through all of my limbs. I felt the same way now, her beauty clasped between each of my palms, lips parted in want. God, I wanted her.

"Are you mine?" I roughly mumbled, drawing her closer to me, my body aching. Had I ever wanted someone this much before? It was almost frightening, the urgency of it.

Her breathing deepened as she settled each hand on my hips, letting the distance close. It was like I felt it from the top of my head, to the ends of my toes, just that small gesture.

"Yes. I am."

I kissed her then, slowly and gently.

Her lips felt shocked against mine, unmoving and still, but I kept kissing them, coaxing out her innocent hesitation with each brush. She followed then, deepening the kiss, letting her mouth move with mine at the most tortuously easy pace – torturous because I wanted her so fucking badly. Her lips were so full, smooth, and desiring, and each entrapment of them between mine drove me closer to so much painful _want._ I kissed her harder, moving my hands to her waist as hers tangled into my hair, our bodies collapsed together perfectly. When my tongue found hers, she quietly moaned into my mouth.

I didn't know how far I could take this. I wanted her now, more than ever, but something about Tara made me want to be patient and gentle, something so innocent and untouched about these parts of her, bringing me to stop myself.

With a heavy breath, I used as much effort as I could muster to pull away from her mouth. "Fuck." I sighed, loosening my grip on her. "I have to stop." My lip was sore from the fight, and I needed to take things at the pace that felt right with her. Slow. Easy. Patient.

She panted, giving me a small nod as her hands settled on my shoulders. "Okay."

I kissed her once more, lightly, and then regretfully let her go completely. "I'll walk you home."

Tara took my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. It felt like the confirmation that we were just beginning, a new chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Wow. What can I even say? This is an extremely sad time for the fandom right now, and writing this story seriously just... hurts me. It hurts me so intensely. I thought about post poning the rest of it for awhile because I'm still so hurt, but I felt like, in the light of everything, I wanted to continue to give Jax and Tara's amazing, epic love justice. So, here is the six chapter. And trust me guys, I'm hurting just as much as you are.

* * *

**_Tara_**

I couldn't sleep that night.

I laid in my duvet, staring at the glow in the dark stars my mother had glued on my ceiling when I was little, before she passed. I kept touching my fingers to my swollen lips, the one's that Jax Teller had just kissed for the very first time in such a feverish passion. It was something I'd never experienced before. The intimacy, the _fire._ I replayed the moment in my mind, over and over again, astonished at the melodic swell of the emotions I felt, lingering inside of my chest and overwhelming me one at a time – a procession of magic. Desire. Fireworks. Lust.

Love?

_What was this? _

It'd only been a few weeks swept into Jax's complicated and reckless life, and I felt the change. There was a difference between him and everyone else – the guys that passed with gray faces, meaningless to me. Jax was like discovering a sunrise for the first time, colors exploding over my horizons and making me forget what it ever meant to see only the bleak darkness.

I thought of the leather cut, seemingly glued to his chest. I thought of the bruises shadowing his knuckles, the cuts on the perfect skin of his rugged face. He was beautiful, he was reckless, he was strong.

He was dangerous.

What was I getting myself into? Whatever it was, whatever it meant, I irrevocably belonged to Jax Teller. And no one, not even myself, would ever understand the depths of it.

* * *

Anticipation nagged at me the entire next day at school, resulting in zero focus – something abnormal for me. I don't know what I expected when the final bell rang, but whatever promise I imagined inside of my head featured Jax's face. I couldn't wait, he was all I could think about. Would he call me? Should I call him? What happened now, between us? It was all happening so fast, and it made me unsure of the next stone in our path. It made me excited and anxious simultaneously, and I couldn't decide which to indulge in. What if I didn't see him this evening at all? What if he regretted kissing me? I tried not to let the disappointment in, because it made the anticipation that much stronger, forcing the clock to move even slower in my peripheral vision.

When the final bell rang, I bolted from my desk.

Quickly grabbing things from my locker, I thanked God for David's absence from school – more than likely a result from what Jax had done to his face. I knew I should be sympathetic, but honestly, it served him right for trying to control my life and those I let into it. I didn't like to be treated as a possession, even though Jax's undoubtedly territorial reactions made my cheeks heat up and lift with an involuntary smile. Grabbing my last book, someone rapidly approached and kicked my locker door shut with a loud snap. Maliciously, no doubt. I flinched as I saw her, the perpetrator.

Wendy.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with Jax?" She snarled. The dark eye make up around her narrowed eyes made her look even more menacing than usual.

I stared back at her, winded and tongue tied. Stumped.

What was I supposed to say?

She'd cornered me, intimidating, and I was the very least confrontational person. I'd never needed a reason to fight – I had simple, quiet, smart friends, and I lead a simple and quiet life. I'd never been the type of girl that _needed _to be confronted, or talked to in the voice that dripped poison, like Wendy's did.

"Is she fucking deaf?" One of her hyena friends squawked. I hadn't realized they were flanking her, both glaring down on my small height like a predator on its prey. I felt so small against the three of them – powerless. Wordless and worthless. Every witty comeback, every snap in my cool exterior, befell me.

Wendy evilly giggled, sweeping her greasy blonde hair to one shoulder in an arrogantly prissy way. I'd never felt anything towards this girl in all the years that I'd known her from living in a town as small as Charming, but in that moment, I hated her.

But I feared her, just the same.

My face twisted in agitation, and without even thinking about it, I pivoted on the heel of my boot and began walking towards the school's exit. Fight or flight, and I chose flight. Wendy and the hyena's burst into a fit of malicious laughter, and I heard them follow, pursuing. I began to walk faster down the halls.

"_What_, are you fucking scared, bitch? This little terrified fuck thinks she's _Jax Teller's _girl?" One of them shoved me hard from behind, and I stumbled but stayed on my feet. It took all the will power I had to keep walking and not strike back, defending myself. Because I couldn't. Three on one – and one who was smaller than them, and who had never had a physical altercation in her life. They would win, beat me as bloody as they wanted, and I would have nothing but a blemish on my perfect school record if we got caught in the middle of a girl fight inside the school building. It was an unfair fight, and one that I needed to avoid.

"Come on, fucking bitch. Show us how_ tough_ you are!"

Another shove from the other side, and I fell against the exit door, hitting the side of my head at a weird angle, _hard_. Oh, God. _No_.

I was going to pass out.

My vision started blurring at the edges, and vertigo took its hold over my frame. As I began to fall, I was shoved again by one of the girls, my weight slamming against the exit door again and falling out of the other side.

As I began to black out on the high school's front stairs, I heard his voice.

"_Tara!_"

* * *

"_Tara? Tara?_"

Was I dreaming about him? His entrancing voice, so husky and smooth at the same time, calling out to me. _Jax, I'm here_.

"Babe?" His voice said.

Was this real? I groaned, my eyes slowly starting to blink open. I was laying down on something soft, and something calloused and warm gripped my hand. Oh, it was another hand. Jax's hand.

"Jax?" I breathed, swallowing hard while I slowly took in my surroundings, my vision coming into focus. I understood now. I was in the nurses station, lying on one of the gurneys. Jax was sitting on the edge, looking down at me with furrowed, worried eyebrows. His fingers held mine tightly, squeezing when he realized I was coming to.

"Jax." I stirred to sit up, but he easily subdued me with his free hand, pushing my shoulder blade back down into the plastic covered cushion.

"Don't try to get up. You hit your head pretty hard." He was detached, an edge of something _off_ in his voice. Annoyance? Anger?

God, this was so embarrassing. Was he ashamed to be... _involved_, or whatever he was, with someone as weak as me? He had a name, something to prove. Strength, perseverance, and fearless ambition. Who was _I_? A weak, quiet, defenseless little girl with no right to have a claim to him? I felt so foolish, so stupid. How could he ever want someone like me? Someone nothing like him, or Wendy Case?

"I... I'm sorry." I quickly responded, self deprecatingly letting go of his hand and touching my tender head. It ached, miserably, and hurt even more thinking of my disgrace to him. Would he leave me now?

Jax scoffed at me. "_You're _sorry?" His voice got angrier. "The only person who should be fucking sorry is those skanky fucking bitches." He hissed, putting his hand in my hair very gently, being easy with my head. His blue eyes were so intense, sweeping over my face in such a fiercely affectionate manner.

Everything changed in that second. I'd had it all wrong.

Jax wasn't angry or ashamed of me – he was protecting me. He was vehemently enraged at the girls who had hurt me. He was _coddling _my weakness.

The bit of anxiety I had released, and I melted into him, placing my hand on top of his.

"Are you okay, Tara?" Jax softly questioned, his careful fingers looping through my tawny hair. It made the butterflies spike back up in my stomach, my heartbeat quickening its pace. When he touched me at all, my body responded automatically. I barely heard him when he said, "The nurse said you could have a concussion."

"What are you even doing here?" I whispered, a small smile creeping onto my lips. I couldn't help it. I'd been wishing for him all day long, and now he was here, so close. I didn't care that I'd just passed out, that I'd nearly gotten beaten to death. All I cared about was him and having him near me.

"You just got knocked out and you're _smiling _right now?" He asked, incredulous.

I couldn't help but smile wider, shrugging a bit weakly. I felt woozy and everything had a dream like quality to it. Had the nurse given me pain killers?

It took him a second to release his anxiousness, but he began to smile back at me, our energies dancing like they always did. My happiness gave him happiness. "I figured you could use a ride home from school," He finally responded, his fingers drifting from my hair to my cheekbone, caressing tenderly. "When I saw them push you through the door, I carried you here. Figured the nurse would still be in."

I looked around for the nurse, but she must have been making the phone call to my father that I knew he wouldn't answer.

I leaned into his hand, closing my eyes, and just stayed there. Every limb of mine loosened its tension and calmed.

"Are you okay, babe?" Jax worriedly tried again.

"I am now." I whispered. "I am now that you're here."


	7. Chapter 7

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I've gotten so many responses and messages about updating sooner, and since I'm finally done with the semester, I'll try and get them up as quickly as possible! I'm glad I can give the Jax/Tara supporters a boost during a really awful time.

* * *

**_Tara_**

After the nurse released me, Jax called Opie and asked for him to pick us up in his truck. The nurse gave Jax permission to take me home after her failed attempts to contact my father, but she didn't like the idea of me jostling on the back of Jax's bike in my fragile state – neither did I, honestly. I didn't want to throw up in front of him, like I knew the vertigo would induce.

I was thankful to sit in Opie's old pick up truck, wrapped securely in Jax's gentle arms. He held my small body against the bulk of his the entire way to my house, letting me rest my head against his hard chest. Surprisingly, there was only a dull ache behind my eyes, though I figured the pain was lessened by the drugs Nurse Kelley had given me. Even if I'd felt worse, I was sure I would've barely paid attention to it. Being held by Jax like that, his fingers stroking the bare parts of my skin, took over all of my senses.

When Opie pulled into my driveway, Jax hopped out of the truck, putting his hands on my waist and easily hoisting me down onto my feet. He kept an arm wrapped securely around my middle, and I inwardly thanked him for it. I felt woozy, standing up again.

"Thanks, Op. Could you leave her in the driveway?" Jax said, nodding his head towards the bed of the truck, where his bike was.

"Sure, brother." Opie nodded, and then looked over at me. "Teach her how to throw a right hook, eh?"

Jax smirked a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. I could tell he was still unhappy about what Wendy and her friends had done to me. "Yeah, will do."

"Thank you, Opie." I said to him, putting my weight against Jax.

"Not a problem, darlin'. Get some rest." He smiled warmly at me, and I realized how much I really did like big, teddy bear Opie Winston.

Jax lead me up to my front door, slowly, letting me take my time because he could see my weakness. I grabbed my keys from my back pocket, and Jax instinctively took them from me. Once we were inside, he put my keys on the hook on the wall, as he'd seen me do several times before, and I loved that he cared so much to do the smallest things for me. I'd always had such an aversion to showing him any weakness because of everything he stood for – the leather cut on his chest staring back at me. But he surprised me, as Jax often did. Either by his intelligence, his gentleness, or the big heart guarded by the rage he tried to tame. I was always on my toes with him, falling deeper every second with his complexities.

"Do you want to go to the couch, or to your bed?" Jax asked, still holding onto me.

Maybe it was the woozy feeling or the numbness from the pain killers, but I began to giggle. Jax looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"What's so funny?" He furrowed his eyebrows, probably wondering if I'd hit my head a little too hard.

I giggled even more because of his expression. "It sounds like you're asking me where I want to have sex." Then I really began laughing at the stupidity of my ten year old thought process, and that I'd actually admitted to it out loud.

Jax let out a few laughs, but mostly looked at me like I was possibly on the brink of insanity. "How hard _did _you hit your head?"

"Too hard, apparently." I laughed more, and felt the pain stabbing underneath my forehead. I put my hand to it, my laughter turning into a stifled moan. "Ow."

"Alright, c'mon, jokester." Jax pulled me up into his arms with no effort, cradling me in his arms like a child – or a husband with his newlywed wife. He didn't have to carry me, but I didn't have it in me to stop him. "Time to lie down."

I didn't say anything as he carried me down the hallway to my bedroom.

My room was small, plain. Pale yellow walls, because my mother had wanted it to be gender neutral when she was pregnant with me. White comforter, white curtains, white wood dresser and vanity. I always kept it fairly clean, except for the papers and schoolbooks. The only thing that made my room interesting were the framed pictures of my mother and the purple throw pillows on my bed. It was the one place in the house that was mine, and only mine – out of reach from the hoarding my father was prone to.

Jax laid me gently on the bed, fixing the pillows to give my head a comfortable rest. "Do you need anything? Water?"

"No." I looked up at him, worried. "You're not leaving, are you?"

He smiled like a conspirator, making a point by lying down next to me. I felt so serene as the bed creaked under his weight. I wanted him to stay, forever.

"Where else would I be?" He rolled over onto his side, stretching out his body. "Besides, who's going to keep you up for the next hour? Nurse says you shouldn't sleep, until we're sure you aren't concussed. And... given your shitty jokes, I'm not so sure." Jax teased, lazily smirking.

I followed and gently rolled over onto my side, facing him. The pain killers were giving me some kind of boldness, because I didn't filter myself like I usually did. I wasn't one for joking, or making jokes about sex – I was too quiet, too inexperienced and innocent. But I blurted, "And you chose bed. Good choice."

Jax tried and failed to hide his shock at my innuendos – it showed in his eyes. I was just as surprised with myself, but something in me wouldn't stop it. Maybe because, subconsciously, I wanted to know. I wanted to be as close to him as possible, because never in my life have I ever _wanted _so much to be close to _anyone. _

"Have you ever..." He trailed off, his voice quieting and taking a serious turn. I think he already knew, but something about confirming it for him felt very intimate.

"Never." I whispered, staring at his lips. When would he kiss me again?

"Nothing at all?"

I blushed when I responded, "No. Not even close."

Jax was quiet for a long time, looking away from my face. There was something downtrodden about his expression, and it worried me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, hesitantly putting a hand on his collarbone to get his attention back.

His eyes were so blue and troubled, looking back at me with a guarded expression. "Aren't you afraid?"

I didn't understand what he meant. "Of what? Sex?"

Jax shook his head, releasing a heavy sigh. His long, calloused fingers began to trail up and down my arm lightly, and he watched each stroke they took in a trance. "Not just that. Of me, corrupting you."

A short laugh escaped my mouth. "_Corrupting _me_?_"

Jax sighed again, his fingers moving from my arm to my jean covered hip. My breath hitched up, my heart starting and restarting over again. Did he notice what he did to me?

"We're from two different worlds, Tara. I'm not... like you." Jax's voice was hesitant and thoughtful, and it made me think of David Hale, his warning to Jax to stay away from me. It made me think of Wendy Case, and her proving I wasn't nearly tough enough to handle the life that Jax Teller belonged in. No one wanted to see us together.

I didn't care.

I cupped his face with my hand, my fingers laying against the length of his strong jawline. "You're not corrupting me. Don't listen to anyone else." I whispered, our eyes meeting. "I want you. I want us."

Jax's fingers clutched onto my hip, drawing me closer to him. Our noses brushed; he'd brought us so close. I couldn't breathe. "Me, too." He whispered back, before he closed the space and, finally, kissed me.

Our second kiss.

It wasn't like the first, because it didn't start slow, nor were we unsure what we were doing. Jax expertly parted my lips with his tongue, our mouths twining in burning desire – the longing need I'd been feeling for him all day, coming to its climax. My arms wrapped around his neck, my heart thrumming hard against my chest as he kissed me without self control. Without thinking about it, my leg hitched up and hooked onto Jax's hip, drawing him into me. The involuntary groan he let out into my mouth set my entire body on fire.

He broke the kiss and hissed furiously. "God damnit, Tara. Stop."

"Why?" I begged, trapping his mouth with mine again and tightening my leg's grip on him. I felt the hardness in his jeans press against my center, and gasped.

Jax groaned again, his body tensing. "Please. Don't."

I pulled back a little, reeling in from my driving lust, and feeling anxious at the way his voice sounded. "Why?" I breathed, heated, fumbling inside of my head for answers. "Don't you... want me?"

Jax scoffed, his face twisting into annoyance. "_Of course _I fucking want you, Tara."

"Then... why?" I whispered, recoiling from him. My limbs untangled from his and I eased away, giving him space. I felt rejected.

He sat up in the bed, sighing heavily and detaching himself from me. What was so complicated about this? "It doesn't feel right." He finally said. I wrapped my arms around myself, shrinking under how that made me feel. When Jax looked back to me, he must have seen my disappointment, because he quickly continued. "No, that's not what I mean. It _does _feel right. Really fucking right," He amended, taking one of my hands in his. "I just... want it to be different with you."

"How do you mean, different?" I tried to understand.

"I've never... waited on anyone, you know?" Jax began, looking at our fingers laced together. "I want to take this slow. You're..." He paused, shifting his eyes to my face. "Important to me."

I felt a little heat fill my cheeks. It was the most he'd ever said about the way he felt about me. Nothing else mattered but that, and the elated feeling he'd planted in my chest. "You're important to me, too, Jax."

He smiled a half smile, and it made him look so young. It was the purity of joy, so different from the weights of his responsibilities and how it made him so austere.

"One step at a time, okay?"

"Okay." I promised.


End file.
